Through Death We See
by Andie24
Summary: As a dangerous killer forces the team to have to race against the clock in order to prevent the worse from happening, they soon realize that it sometimes takes death to find the truth. A case fic that leads to Flack/OC, plus Mac/Stella and DL.
1. Spring's Irony

_Hey everyone! This is my very first story so I'm like super excited. Please, and I mean pretty please, let me know what you think. I love feedback so lay it on me. Also, I just want to say I'm not at all from New York City and am not a CSI. All my locations are pretty much from my imagination and my forensic facts are from books from my library so I apologize if anything is inaccurate. Also, I apologize if there are any mistakes. __Thanks again. –Andie._

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Chapter One: Spring's Irony

_Spring is when life's alive in everything_

_~ Christina Rossetti_

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April in New York City was a month of transition. In the beginning, the lingering elements of winter remain; cold mornings greet waking workers while cool afternoons stray into the equation. As the month moves forward, those cold mornings lessen in numbers and sunny afternoons become more recurrent. Bushes greeted the warmth with blooms of yellow and white, emerging in the most graceful of fashions. Leaves came unto trees like stars in the night sky; each appears individually, yet the entire completion of the act seemed almost theatrical.

People began to pack away their thick winter coats and wool hats. The backs of closets are searched, flip flops as the core target. Dogs see the outside more often and kids enter playgrounds with joyful thoughts, excited that mothers no longer bundled them up to the fullest capacity. Vendors become grateful, for the cold beverages that rested easily on their carts became seemingly more alluring to those who walked past. As April comes to an end, the snow and ice of winter are long forgotten and minds turn to the heat waiting in the distance to take over. For some, the tone of the city becomes lighter, life seeming more promising in ways. However, not all welcomed the warmth with traditions and customs of happiness. Some found the time to become the darkest of moments, the longest of hours, and the heaviest for the hearts.

For some, the end of the cold, was the start of a different kind of cold; a cold that overcomes the heart when it is faced with the loss of a life.

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**April 23, 2009 7:29am**

Detective Donald Flack Jr. received the call at exactly 7:14 am. A body was found in an alley across the street from the south side of Central Park. Despite the morning glow that was slowly seeping onto the congested streets and crowded gray sidewalks, the alley still held a dark and gloomy mood, one that was pre-existing to the feeling created from the obvious murder that had taken place. The walls on both sides displayed worn weathered bricks of burgundy, another factor that contributed to the ever darkening disposition of the scene.

He glanced up and down the alley, his eyes searching for anything that could be deemed suspicious. The alley seemed to be one out a movie or TV show, predictable: trash overflowing out of dumpsters, garbage cans gathered up against the walls, and the remains of the shelter once used by the homeless, placed strategically near the backdoor of the neighboring restaurant.

He looked back down at the body of the man that laid face down in the middle of the alley. He was dressed casually in khaki pants and a navy blue polo. His short brown hair was covered in the blood that came from the wound located on the back of his head. Flack was no doctor, but he could guess that the injury was the reason the man was no longer living.

The incoming sound of footsteps caused him to look up. He glanced towards the street at the located at the end of the alley to see two familiar faces approaching.

Detectives Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera arrived in their regular manner. They held their kits as though they were the secret weapons and the crime scene was the battlefield of a viscous war. Each dressed in their respective fashion, Mac in a dark suit, minus the tie and Stella, who began to take full advantage of the warming weather, opting for gray dress slacks and a cerulean blue top. Mac reached him, giving him a short nod before moving to bend over the body completely.

"So, the call came in at about 7:06 this morning. Mr. Delgado, the owner of the restaurant located there," he started, pointing to the restaurant whose side door was located in the alley, "was in early to clean up. He came outside to throw out some trash and was greeted to this," he continued, throwing a glance in the direction of the body. "According to him, he came closer to check for a pulse, but decided against after seeing all the blood. Ran in to call 911," he informed them. It was his version of a greeting. They would walk in, and he would tell them what he knew.

"You find any ID?" Stella questioned as she looked up at Flack.

"Matthew Garrison, age 32. His wallet was in his back pocket."

"What about cash?" she inquired.

"Yeah. That and a couple of credit cards which makes me think that it wasn't a robbery," he answered.

Mac continued to stare silently at the body. His trained eyes scanned over every detail of the corpse. Through the crimson blood he could see what looked to be a gunshot wound positioned at the back of the head, however it was too thick to try to estimate the range from which the shot was fired. His looked further down the body, searching for any possible trace to be found.

His eyes landed on a small strand of hair on the back of the shirt. He pulled out a pair of tweezers from his kit and carefully lifted the hair from the body.

"Is that a hair?" Stella asked, moving to get a closer look.

"A brown hair." Mac lifted his arm up higher, revealing the length. "From the look of it, it seems to belong to a woman."

"I don't know Mac. I've seen some guys in this city with freakishly long hair," Flack commented.

Mac sent a small smirk in Flack's direction as he stepped back from the body, giving Stella room to take pictures of the body in the current position. He carefully placed the hair into a small evidence bag that he removed from his kit.

Stella moved closer to the victim, armed with the large black device. She looked through lens, adjusting the settings to give her a full view of the body. She went to take a close up of the wound in the back of the head.

She drew her face back from the screen, looking down at the body. The portion of the arms that were faced in her direction held small diagonal cuts, each going in different directions.

"Check this out Mac," she said, drawing the attention of both men.

"They look like defensive wounds," he stated.

"He fought back," Flack concluded, stating the obvious.

"So Matthew Garrison comes into the alley and gets attacked?" Stella pondered, her brain trying to calculate the different scenarios.

"Why would he be in the alley?" Mac asked, building on to Stella's theory.

"Maybe he was meeting someone," she suggested.

"A meeting in an alley in the middle of the night? Seems a little shady," Flack observed.

"Well until Sid can give us a time of death, we don't know how long he was actually here." Mac looked towards the door of the restaurant. "Maybe he was going to see Mr. Delgado or another employee at the restaurant."

Flack shook his head. "Well Mr. Delgado says he has never heard of Matthew Garrison. I'll get a list of employees, see if there's any connection though."

Mac nodded, his eyes still locked on the victim. He waited for Stella to finish taking the photographs before speaking again. "Stella, help me turn him over."

Stella placed her camera on top of the kit that lay not too far from the body. She moved backed towards the man, and placed her gloved hands on his shoulders while Mac pushed on his legs. The stiffness in the body was evident as the two detectives carefully rolled the man on his back. Immediately, all three pairs of eyes went to the man's chest.

"What the hell," Flack muttered, speaking for all of them.

The front of Matthew Garrison's shirt had been ripped opened, revealing a large wound on his chest. Starting at the top, the cavernous slash went all the way to his lower abdomen, leaving behind a gruesome trail of ripped skin.

Stella looked up at Mac, a somber expression on her face. "Why would someone do this?"

"Crime of passion," he answered grimly, giving her a look of both anger and determination, a look that she was familiar with.

Stella tilted her head to the side, looking closely at the wound. "Do you guys see that?" she asked as she stood up and took a few steps back from the body.

Mac did the same, coming to stand next to her. "It's a four," he stated.

Sure enough, the outline of the indentation on the skin of the body was that of the number four. The four took up the entire surface of Garrison's chest, leaving no breaks in its path.

"That's a little creepy," Flack announced.

"A little?" Stella asked him before turning to Mac. "If this is a message, it could be a sign that there are numbers one through three out there somewhere."

"Until we know that, let's treat it as a single case. The four might be representing something else," he told her.

"But Mac, why else would someone take the time to carve that. I mean, it's not an easy thing to do," she countered, unhappy with his reasoning.

"I don't know Stella, but unless we find a number one through three, we can't assume anything?"

Stella nodded as she turned her head towards the street at the end of the alley. The sun was now completely in the sky, looking down on the city like a face revealed from the heavens beyond. She could see that the streets were now fully illuminated, cars glistening in the glow, streets becoming brighter by the minute. People made their way onto sidewalks, each heading in a different direction to arrive on time to their individual destinations. The city was alive now.

Matthew Garrison however, was not.


	2. Grief's Introduction

_Hey everyone. I'm sorry for the delay but I completely changed the direction of the story so I had to rewrite this whole chapter. But don't worry, three should come soon. I also want to re-thank everyone who reviewed and also thank everyone who added this story as an alert thingy. I really appreciate it._

_Oh, and I forgot to mention last chapter that I don't own CSI NY or anything._

_-Andie_

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Chapter Two: Grief's Introduction

_The only cure for grief is action_

_~George Henry Lewes_

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Grief is defined as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss. Loss is described as the state of being deprived of or of being without something that one has had. When the two come together in the event of death, they do nothing but create sorrow and anguish, sadness and gloom. Grief is the heart's worse enemy, meanest rival, and most afflicting foe. Never is there a battle between the heart and grief where the heart comes out completely unscathed. There is and will always be the desolate memory of what is no more. For most, nothing good can result from grief.

However, there are always those special circumstances that break the status quo. Moments that prove that grief can do more than simply hurt. It has the ability to teach those who it encounters that things must be cherished while there is still opportunity to do so. It can allow people to understand that life should be lived to the fullest, each day the beginning of a new adventure. And then there are the rare cases in which grief can build relationships that would have never had been sought after before.

Even grief can't win against fate.

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**April 23, 2009 9:26am**

The walk down to the morgue was one that Mac was very familiar with. The descent of the elevator always seemed quiet and calm, almost preparing him to enter the autopsy room. The moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by the cool air created from necessary climate for the room. He knew that the cold was for the preservation of the corpses, but he sometimes couldn't help but think it had to do with the abundance of lifeless bodies that were stored throughout the room.

He made his way through the numerous stainless steel surfaces that were neatly placed in the extent of the space. The lights projected from above glistened on the surfaces, creating a pathway a light that could only be seen from certain angles. The light bounced of the countertops and glass wall, moving through the room in streaks of illumination.

Mac looked to see Dr. Sid Hammerback leaning closely over the body of Matthew Garrison, his eyes carefully examining the wound that was placed on the chest. Sid saw Mac approaching as he stood straight, backing up from the scar. He unclipped his glasses and sent a small nod in Mac's direction.

"Mac, in all my years I've have never seen anything like this," he admitted with the shake of his head, motioning towards the four on Matthew Garrison's chest.

"Were you able to figure out what made it?" Mac was hoping the Sid could give him a slight incline to what was used to create the scar. At the current moment, all they could do was hope that Sid's findings would give them something to go on.

"Well, my guess is some type of jagged instrument." He used the computer screen perched up on the head of the table to zoom in on pictures of the scar. The skin at the point of the cuts were raised and jagged, each part looking slightly different and distorted. "From what I can tell, whatever the killer used was something with inconsistent edges; not at all a kitchen knife."

He paused, taking in a deep sigh before continuing. "Mac, I did however determine that your victim was beaten pretty badly before died. Several bruises and abrasions on his body, mostly on his head and torso which is consistent with him being on the ground when he was attacked."

"So when exactly did he die?"

"Well based on the rigor that set in, my guess would be sometime between seven and midnight yesterday." Sid moved to point at the gunshot wound on the back of head. "As for the cause of death, gunshot wound to the back of the head. I took a photo of the wound and it seems that the bullet was shot in an upward angle."

"Meaning that our shooter was shorter than our vic," Mac concluded.

"Precisely. Now, Matthew Garrison is six feet exactly so based on the trajectory, I would say your shooter is about five foot four." Sid removed his glasses as she handed Mac a photo of the trajectory that proved his theory. "And I also thought that you might find it interesting that the bullet that killed your victim is no longer in his head."

"It was removed?"

"Seems that way. And whoever did it, didn't damage any surrounding tissue in the wound which makes me believe that they knew what they were doing."

Mac stared grimly at the four etched onto the victim, the possible meaning lingering in his head. He feared that Stella would be right in her assumption. "Or maybe whoever it is has done it before."

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**April 23, 2009 9:35am**

The New York City Crime Lab was busy that Thursday, workers moving in each and every direction. Those in lab coats shuffled through the hallways with folders in hand, searching for their superior officers to rely the information to. Others walked aimlessly, trying to mentally put the pieces of a case together but having no such outcome.

Flack however, was moving though the hallways in search on Mac or Stella, though he knew he would first find the latter. Mac often went straight to the morgue so went he walked into one of the individual labs, it didn't surprise him when he saw Stella alone, going over the victims clothes that had been sent to her.

"So, I've got good news," Flack announced as he entered the room.

"Well, I could use some. All I've got is blood stains that I'm pretty sure belong to the victim. Besides the hair Mac found, we don't have that much physical evidence to go on. Adam's working on it now so if we're lucky, we'll get a hit in the system. What do you have?" She pulled off her latex gloves and placed them in the trash container labeled for anything used in the lab.

"Well, it turns out that Matthew Garrison is a very successful real estate agent."

"That's your good news," Stella asked skeptically.

Flack smirked as he handed her the piece of paper he held in his hand. "No, I thought I'd just tell you that bit of information. That however is the employee list from the restaurant in the alley. One name stuck out to me in particular." He watched as she read through the list, her olive green eyes moving over each name.

"Natalie Garrison," she read aloud. "Wife?"

"I'm thinking sister. Mr. Delgado said that Natalie isn't married or engaged. She's one of the chefs at the restaurant."

"Was she working last night?" Stella questioned.

Flack gave her a satisfied smile. "Yup."

Stella placed the list on the table and shifted her body weights as she leaned against it. She looked past Flack into the hallway as she spoke, her eyes not trained on anything. "So maybe Matthew Garrison was at the there to see his sister."

"And maybe she knows something about what went down in that alley."

Stella's eyes went back to Flack. "You got an address?"

"Of course."

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**April 23, 2009 10:15am**

The breezy April air enveloped the area known as Manhattan. Manhattan always had an aura about it that spoke of power and respect. Those familiar with the vicinity understood the meaning, relishing in the demeanor that could easily be acquired when walking through the crowded sidewalks. During the day, those who had the privilege of time spent hours in the various shops and stores, relishing in the fact that they had the time to do so. Others spent it going up into various buildings, understanding the concept of working and taking pride in their ability to do it with ease.

Flack and Stella walked into the Manhattan sky rise, the lobby greeting them with air conditioning set extremely to high for the mild day. The pair made their way through the hallways and towards the elevator, ascending to the sixth floor. According the address in her employee file, Natalie Garrison lived in apartment 612. They walked through the hallway, footsteps silenced by the thick tan carpet beneath their feet. They passed an array of tables ornamented with potted plants and artwork of various European cities adorned the walls.

When they reached apartment 612, Flack rapped on the door. After a moment passed, he knocked again, this time harder. "Natalie Garrison, NYPD."

The door swung open at the mention of his profession. Flack and Stella found themselves staring at a young woman in her late twenties.

"Sorry, I though you were someone else." Her golden blonde hair was cut in a short bob that rested at the base of her neck, swinging back and forth as she looked between Flack and Stella. Her face was similar to that of a child, her features soft and simple, her skin light and pale. Her emerald green eyes stared at Stella, waiting for an explanation.

"Are you Natalie Garrison?"

"Yes." Her voice matched her features, light and harmless.

"I'm Detective Bonaseraand this is Detective Flack. Can we come in?" Stella hoped not to break the news of her brother's murder in the hallway outside of her apartment.

Natalie nodded with a polite smile as she moved aside to allow the two detectives. The minute they entered the room an aroma of various spices and seasonings filled their nostrils. The apartment from their view was immaculate; everything seemed to be in a specified place, nothing out of order. The walls were painted a beige color, neatly contrasting to the white furniture that graced Natalie Garrison's living room. A coffee table was placed in front of the sofa, decked with various cook books and magazines.

"I take it you were cooking," Stella assumed, looking towards what she assumed to be the kitchen.

"Yeah. Um, have a seat." She sat on the loveseat adjacent to the sofa that Stella sat on. Flack chose to stand behind the sofa, watching Natalie carefully.

Natalie noticed Flack's eyes on her as she shifted in her seat. "Um, what's this about?"

"Are you Matthew Garrison's sister?" he questioned.

Natalie nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Yeah, why?"

"When was the last time you saw him?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Yesterday. What's going on? His he in trouble or something?"

Stella paused as she leaned forwards slightly. "Ms. Garrison, I hate to have to be the one to tell you this but, your brother was murdered last night."

In one moment, Natalie Garrison's face went from slightly concerned to utter shock. Her eyes got wide and her mouth sat open as her brain processed the given information. Her breathing became fast as she brought her hand up to her head to run a hand through her hair. She began to shake her head, looking towards the floor.

"No, I mean, he's fine… I just saw him..." she trailed off, the realization slowly sinking in. She put a hand over her mouth as her eyes leaked tears that trailed down her face. She looked back up, this time directly at Flack. "How?"

"Ms. Garrison, that's what were trying to find out. We need to ask you some questions about your brother," he replied, softening his tone.

Natalie nodded, unable to speak. The distress was evident on her face, overtaking her persona rapidly, leaving no room for the possibility that the two detectives present in her leaving room were mistaken and that her brother was alive.

"Ms. Garrison, you said that you saw your brother yesterday. About what time was that?"

Natalie wiped the tears with the palm of her hand as she took in a deep breath. "Um, yesterday evening, I guess around eight. He came to the restaurant where I worked to have dinner."

"Ms. Garrison, did your brother mention anything about having problems with someone or if someone was following him?" Stella asked.

"Um, no. Matt was a normal guy. He would never do anything to hurt anyone." Natalie glanced out the window of her apartment, her eyes staring into the bright sunlight. "I can't believe he's dead." She paused for a minute before a look of realization came over her face. "Wait, was he the one that they found near the restaurant?"

Stella sighed before answering, feeling the pain that the young girl was feeling. "Yes, he was."

Natalie's breathing once again increased. She began to shake her head as she looked back at Stella. "He offered to wait until I got off to take me home. I told him that I'd be fine, that I didn't need a ride. Maybe if I had agreed…"

"Look, Natalie, you can't do that to yourself okay. What happened to your brother was not your fault," Stella assured her. They had come in the mindset that Natalie Garrison could be a possible suspect, yet the longer they sat there, Stella began to doubt the woman's involvement in her brother's murder.

"Can you tell me what time Matthew left?" Flack questioned.

"Uh, I guess a little after ten o'clock."

"Are you sure there is nothing else that went on the you found a little suspicious?" he asked.

"No, I can't think of anything. I'm sorry but there was nothing unusual about him. He came in, we talked and ate, and then he left."

"Did he leave out the front door?" Stella inquired. The body was found near the door that led to the kitchen, most liking located in the back of the restaurant.

"Yeah he did. I'm sorry but I don't know what else to tell you."

Stella slowly stood up, straitening her jacket with her hands. "We appreciate your help Ms. Garrison."

Natalie nodded as she stood as well, her arms wrapped around her body. She followed them to the door, sniffling and trying to hold back the set of tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes.

Stella and Flack excited the apartment and turned around as Natalie stood in the doorway. "If you remember anything that might help, please give me a call." Flack handed her a card with his name and number on it.

"How did he die?" she asked suddenly.

Flack glanced at Stella, silently acknowledging that he would rather not be the one to have to answer.

Stella took note of the act and turned back to Natalie. "He was shot," she answered quietly. It wasn't often that relatives asked the manner of death, or at least not when they initially find out.

Natalie simply nodded as she stared at the Flack's card that was in her hand. "Please find out who did this."

Flack stared sympathetically at her, feeling bad about ruining what seemed to be a normal day for her. That was probably the hardest part of the job. He was never comfortable when telling someone that someone they loved was no longer living. He loathed being the one to deliver grief in the form of death. "We will."

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_Okay so please review!_

_And I also want to mention the Fanfiction Awards, 2009. All you have to do is go to the forum and nominate your favorite stories and authors. There are a whole bunch of categories so go check it out!_


	3. Death's Timing

_Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the reviews as always. I hope you all are enjoying it. _

_Oh, and I don't own anything._

_-Andie_

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Chapter Three: Death's Timing

_The timing of death, like the ending of a story, gives a changed meaning to what preceded it._

_~Mary Catherine Bateson_

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The final beat of the heart, the instant the last breath is taken, and the moment the eyes close forever is the time when death overcomes. While most tend to focus on the how, it is imperative not to forget the when.

If the murder of a man was a play, the time of death may not be credited with the lead role, but it does appear in each act, reminding the lead of its significance. It appears in the beginning, establishing the conflict. It comes in again at the rising action, allowing those around it to comprehend the progression of the plot. It makes an appearance in the climax, strengthening the goals of the hero. Lastly, it occurs in the falling action, putting together the final pieces of the puzzle. Without the time of death, the play is nothing more than a cluster of pointless attempts of understanding the impossible.

In the play that is Matthew Garrison, the time of death has a larger role than expected.

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**April 24, 2009 10:41am**

Adam Ross ran the sample twice; he always did. He learned quickly that the information he gave out was just as vital as any evidence found at a scene. If there was any chance of doubt on his part, the case could fall through at any point. He walked briskly through the halls towards Mac's office, the manila folder bouncing back and forth in between his hands. He came to rest in front of the door, taking a quick breath before moving inside the office.

Mac looked up from computer at the sound of someone entering. He gave the younger man a small nod. "What do you have for me Adam?"

"Well, I ran the DNA from the hair you found on Matthew Garrison's body and got a hit in CODIS." He reached across the desk and handed Mac the file.

Mac opened it, his eyes naturally going towards the name in the upper corner of the paper. "Logan Castle," he read aloud. "In the system for DUI a few years ago, placed on probation." His eyes studied the picture in the file, just as the door to his office opened again.

Flack entered with a satisfied look on his face, a file of his own resting in his hands. "So I pulled up the financial history of our vic, and let me tell ya, between his savings and the money he made in the real estate business, this guy was loaded. Now I did notice that on the first of every single month for the past twelve years, exactly two hundred dollars is transferred to another account. Except for this month, there was no transfer."

"Did you manage to find a name for the other account?" Mac questioned.

"I did. Belongs to some guy name Logan Castle."

"Girl," Adam said.

Flack turned towards the lab tech, his eyebrows raised in question. "What?"

"Logan Castle is a girl," he answered.

"How do you know?"

"Adam found a hit in the system to the hair on the body. Logan Castle was arrested a few years back for a DUI." Mac looked back down at the file on the desk before looking towards Flack. "I think we should pay Ms. Castle a visit."

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**April 24, 2009 11:08am**

From the moment Detective Danny Messer entered the room, the aroma of various scented fragrances filled his nostrils. The room smelled like a candle store; so many different scents enveloping the air at one time. He noticed each outlet in the room housed a type of air freshener. "Am I the only one that smells this stuff?" His voice was thick with his native Staten Island accent.

Detective Jessica Angell looked over at him with a smirk playing on her lips. "Never smelled a clean house before Messer?"

Danny lifted a finger and pointed in her direction. "Ha, ha. Think you're cute huh?"

Angell shrugged as she turned back to her notepad. "I know."

Danny shook his head as his eyes began to circle the crime scene, taking in each detail he could.

The body was face down in the center of the room. The mass of red hair on the woman was tangled and matted down, blood seeping throughout the strands. From where he stood, Danny could tell that there was a gunshot wound in the back of her head, more than likely the reason she died.

Angell looked up form the woman and turned to Danny, reading from her notepad as she spoke. "Vic's name is Dana Tillman, age forty-six, lives alone. She was supposed to meet her sister for breakfast, but never showed up. The sister decided to drop by to make sure everything was alright and found her like this."

"How she get in?"

"Spare key."

Danny nodded as he looked back down at the woman. "So what happened to you Dana Tillman?" he asked out loud.

Just as he finished, Detective Lindsay Monroe and Dr. Sheldon Hawkes entered the room, each carrying their kits. Hawkes went straight to the body as always, analyzing the position of the woman. His eyes went to the back of the head, as he examined the wound with gloved hands.

"Did you just say Dana Tillman?" Lindsay asked, her large brown eyes wide in question.

"Yeah. You know her?" Angell questioned.

"Who didn't?"

"The rest of us," Danny quipped, his arms gesturing to everyone else in the room.

Lindsay gave Danny a knowing look as she glanced back down at the victim. "Dana Tillman is the meteorologist for the channel nine news. She's on every morning, Monday through Friday from five to ten," she explained.

"Except today," Angell assumed.

"Yeah," Lindsay stated, nodding in agreement. "Come to think of it, she's been out all week."

"A weather girl, huh? Well, today's Thursday, meaning that it's possible that she could have been dead for at least three days," Danny commented, walking towards Hawkes.

"Well, with the apartment being as cool as it is, the body temperature won't give us an accurate time of death. We'll just have to wait and see what Sid says." Hawkes looked at the patch of carpet beneath the victim. "This blood stain is inconsistent with the gunshot wound."

Danny peered down at the blood underneath the victim's stomach. "Maybe we got another injury."

"Help me turn her Danny." Hawkes scooted closer to get a better grip on the woman's shoulders. The two men carefully turned the body so that she was lying on her back. All of their eyes instantaneously went to the woman's upper body which was exposed through her shirt.

"Oh my God," Lindsay muttered in disbelief.

"Is that what I think it is?" Danny asked, still crouched down next to the body.

Hawkes shook his head, his features showing the anger for the murderer and the sympathy for the victim. He looked back up at Danny. "It's a five."

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**April 24, 2009 11:37am**

The address on the bank account led Flack and Mac to an apartment building in the Eastern part of The Bronx. The building was old, sitting about fourteen stories high. A homeless man sat outside, begging any passersby for change. The sidewalk was littered with cigarette butts and paper that blew past in the light breeze of the late morning.

As they entered the building, they were greeted by the smell of cigarette smoke, engulfing the atmosphere in a method that left no room for fresh air. According to her file, Logan Castle lived on the second floor. The two detectives used the steps, quickly ascending to the next floor. As they headed towards the door in question, a young woman briskly walked past them. Mac glanced down at the file in his hand and back at the woman.

"Excuse me," he called out.

The woman stopped walking and spun around. She eyed the two detectives cautiously, her gray eyes trying to read their expressions. Her chocolate brown hair sat in a messy bun, along with a green scarf tied around her head. She pushed her red messenger bag further up her shoulder.

"Yeah?" The moment the word left her mouth, both men knew the woman had lived in New York her entire life. Her accent resembled that of Danny's, both strong and heavy.

"Are you Logan Castle?" Mac asked.

She paused for a minute, contemplating her next answer. "Yeah," she said slowly.

"I'm Detective Taylor and this is Detective Flack." He nodded his head on Flack's direction. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" Her eyebrows raised in question.

"Matthew Garrison," Flack said.

Logan sighed as she rolled her eyes and leaned her five foot four frame against the wall. "Great," she replied sarcastically.

"What was your relationship with Matthew Garrison?" Mac kept his eyes trained on her as he waited for her to answer.

"There was no relationship," she replied pointedly.

"Really?" Flack raised his eyebrows at her in question. "I mean, if somebody gave me two hundred dollars every month, I would say that creates some type of a relationship." The sarcasm was rolling off of his tongue as he spoke.

Logan looked at him in a mix of surprise and annoyance. "So what, you've been goin' through my files now?" she asked as her hand found its to her hip.

"No, we've been going through Matthew Garrison's files. That's what we do when someone is murdered," he replied, his voice growing louder. He placed extra emphasis on the word 'murdered'.

Logan stood silent, Flack's words ringing in her head. She looked directly at Flack, her breathing sfaster and the irritation from before no longer evident on her face. "He's dead?"

"Yeah, he's dead. You know anything about it?"

"Wait, wait," she started, holding her hands up defense, "you think I had had something to do with it?"

"Ms. Castle, where were you two nights ago, between the hours of seven and midnight?" Mac asked, his tone increasingly calmer than that of Flack's.

"Uh, I was at work until eight and then I came home."

"And where exactly do you work Ms. Castle?" Flack asked. He stared at the shorter woman who was beginning to wear on his patience.

Sensing his dislike in her, Logan gazed remained fixed on him. "I work at Chantal's. It's a hair salon on the upper east side." She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. "And to answer your next question, yes, there is a number you can call to verify." She handed to the card to Mac who took it and placed it in the interior of his coat.

"What about after work?" Flack questioned.

Logan sighed. "I went to go pick up my daughter from the babysitters'. We came home after that. Good enough?"

Flack shrugged as he glanced in Mac's direction. "For now."

"Ms. Castle, when was the last time you saw Matthew?" Mac inquired.

"Uh, two days ago. Like always, he gave me hard time."

"Why was that?"

"I needed the money he owed me and he hadn't given it to me yet."

_The door swung open to reveal Matthew Garrison clad in only boxers and a t-shirt. His face turned grim when he saw the person on the other side of the door. He stared at her coolly with his arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. "What the hell do you want?"_

"_What do you think?" she spat back._

"_Well, let's see. I think I want you to leave," he said with a smile._

"_Where's the money, Matthew?" Logan asked._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_The money. I didn't get it for April."_

"_Are you sure you just didn't spend it all on booze or something," he countered._

"_Stop being such bitch you…"_

_She was cut off after he brought his hands to his shoulders as he pushed her out of the door and across the hallway. He slammed her into the wall opposite from his door. His hands remained on her shoulders as he smiled at her. He slowly moved his face closer to hers. "Is this what you want, huh? That's why you came here right?"_

_She struggled against him as she tried to push him away but failing miserably. "Get the hell off of me."_

"_Or what?" He asked as she slowly moved his lips towards her neck. He suddenly stopped and moved back entirely, going back to his doorway. _

_Logan stood confused until she saw the man making his way down the hallway. He smiled politely at the two before entering his own apartment located a few doors down from Matthew._

_When he was completely inside, Matthew let out a loud chuckle. He took one last glance at Logan as he moved to close his door. "Go to hell Logan."_

Flack eyed Logan suspiciously, not entirely sure of her story. On the one hand, she seemed to display some regret in her decision to visit Matthew that day. However, Flack couldn't help the feeling inside of him that said she wasn't telling them everything. "Are you sure about all that Ms. Castle? From what we hear, Matthew was nice guy."

Logan laughed at loud at his comment. "And where did you get that? Oh, wait, let me guess. Natalie, right?"

Mac stole a glance at Flack, a look that confirmed Logan's suspicions. "Natalie is nothing but a prissy little Daddy's girl, okay. She knows her brother is…I mean, was a jerk." She stopped, the concept of the situation coming back to her. "Look, I didn't kill Matthew okay. Have I ever muttered the words? Probably, but I never hurt him. I only went to see him because of the money he owed me."

"Why exactly was Matthew giving you money?" Mac asked her.

"Who do you think knocked me up?"

Flack's eyebrows rose in surprise while Mac stood still, taking in the new found information. "So Matthew Garrison is your daughter's father?"

"Matthew is a lot of things but he is not my daughter's father. He's only seen her once in twelve years and that was by accident. He gives me the money to stay quiet."

"Quiet?" Mac placed his hands in his pockets.

"I was sixteen, he was twenty."

)()()()()()(

**April 24, 2009 3:54pm**

"Mac, this is crazy."

Mac glanced at Stella before looking back down at the crime scene photos lying on the table. Matthew Garrison was number four and Dana Tillman was number five. Somewhere, there was a number one, two, and three. "Are the two victims connected in any way?"

Danny shook his head. "For all we know, the two have never even crossed paths. Matthew was a real estate agent and Dana was a weather girl."

Mac nodded before turning towards Lindsay. "Was there any trace from the crime scene similar to the one at the alley?"

"Nothing. The only thing we found at the scene was fingerprints all belonging to the vic."

Mac sighed as he looked towards Stella. "Where does leave us?"

"Well," she siad with a sigh. "We do what you always say."

"And what is that?" he asked, a small grin playing on his lips.

"Dig deeper."

"Mac" Hawkes announced as he entered the room. His breathing was slightly erratic, indicating that he had made his way to the room in hurriedly. "I have the autopsy report for Dana Tillman. Now, all of the distinctive features from Matthew Garrison's body are exactly the same. Bullet was removed, same trajectory, everything."

"So we know that they were murdered by the same person," Danny commented.

"More than likely. But check this out. Sid estimated that Dana Tillman died four to five days ago."

"What?" Lindsay questioned. "Matthew was killed two nights ago."

"Exactly. Dana Tillman was murdered before Matthew Garrison," Hawkes said.

"So why did number five come before number four?" Danny inquired.

"We're wrong," Stella said suddenly. She turned towards Mac, her eyes wide as she stared at him. "Mac, this guy isn't counting up; he's numbering down."

He sighed, meeting her eyes. "Which means he's got three more targets."

)()()()()()(

_Please offer any feedback. Thanks!_


	4. Help's Arrival

_Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to work on updating faster. Anyways, feedback is welcomed. Thanks again!_

_I don't own CSI NY._

_-Andie_

)()()()()()(

Chapter Four: Help's Arrival

_Help is not help until it is given, so turn your intentions to help into acts of help. We judge ourselves by our intentions, but others judge us by our actions._

_~ Lee J. Colan_

)()()()()()(

Whenever help is offered, it is often met in two different ways.

The most common way that help is received is with opposition. There are those in society who feel that being offered help is the same as being considered weak, a categorization that most cannot bear to be a part of. Often, one would much rather continue on alone, no matter how feeble their methods may be. They soon find themselves in positions that make them comprehend that the help offered was nothing more than an act of kindness.

Luckily, there are those who see the offer of help as a gleaming opportunity to overcome the current conflict. They know to take advantage of any aid necessary for it is not always available. In a way, one could say that people such as these follow the simple phrase of "take what you can get".

Fortunately for the people of New York City, Mac Taylor is one of those people who understands that he has to take what he can get.

)()()()()()(

**April 24, 2009 11:33pm**

She stood outside his office, watching. She saw the frustration in his features as his eyes studied the gruesome crime scene photos that lay on his desk. He was adamant that they missed something; that there was a piece of the puzzle that they had yet to discover. True, it had only been two days but the lack of physical evidence in the case was becoming a nuisance to him. She could tell. She slowly pushed the glass door open as she stepped inside of the office

Mac looked up from his desk, a small smile finding its way onto his face at the sight of her. "What are you still doing here Stella?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Her head tilted slightly to the right as she spoke. She moved closer to his desk and leaned over to see exactly what photos he was currently entranced with. "Are those from Dana Tillman's apartment?"

"Yeah. I've been over them and there doesn't seem to be anything out of place."

"Maybe we shouldn't focus so much on the physical. Maybe it's their personal lives," she offered as she crossed her arms.

"Alright. Matthew Garrison, real estate agent," he started as he leaned back in his chair

Stella took his pause as a cue to start. "Thirty-two years old, lives alone. He has a daughter with Logan Castle," she paused, this time her head tilting towards the left. "Wait, does she have a solid alibi?"

Mac turned slightly in his chair as he let out a long sigh. "Hard to say. Flack confirmed that she was a work until around eight o'clock the night Matthew was killed and that she picked up her daughter from her neighbor's close to eight forty-five."

Stella uncrossed her arms and began to point in the air as she spoke out. "Well, according to Sid, Matthew was killed in between seven and midnight. Do we know where she was after picking up her daughter?"

"According to her she was at home. The only problem with that was that there is no way to prove it."

"What about the daughter?" Stella questioned. "Can't she confirm if Logan was at home the whole time?"

"Depends. If it was late, chances are that she was already asleep," Mac answered her. "But let's go back to Logan. We know she has a motive."

"Matthew didn't give her the money for April," Stella said knowingly.

Mac nodded in agreement. "Flack said that the bank got a call from Matthew asking to stop all transfers."

"Okay, so Logan realizes that she isn't going to get the money that Matthew owes her so she decides to takes matters into her own hands," Stella offered.

Mac leaned forward on his desk as he picked up the crime scenes photos that showed a lifeless Matthew Garrison. "Matthew Garrison was found in Manhattan," he started as his eyes found their way back to Stella. "Logan Castle works in Manhattan but lives in the Bronx. That's at least a forty-five minute trip."

"She had the time Mac. And, she fits the profiles of the shooter that Sid described, remember. She's exactly five foot four," Stella prompted.

"So Logan shoots Matthew but then takes the time to carve a number on his chest and remove the bullet from his head?"

Stella stood still as she pondered the thought. "That's the part that I don't get. And then why take the time to remove the bullet and how did she know how. And even if Logan did kill Matthew, what's her connection to Dana Tillman?"

Mac sighed as he leaned back in his chair and started up at Stella "This isn't making any sense Stella".

Stella looked down at him as she crossed her arms again. Her hazel green eyes seemed to sparkle as a smirk came across her features. "When do our cases ever make sense?"

)()()()()()(

**April 27, 2009 9:58am**

From the moment Mac entered the office, he could feel the authoritative tone in the atmosphere. The room screamed power to anyone who passed through the threshold. The way the plaques hung on the wall and the shelves were full of books that were probably never read irritated Mac. He despised the trip he had to take to come to this office for the outcome was seldom a good one.

So, when Chief Brigham Sinclair requested Mac's presence in his office that morning, he was not looking forward to it. He walked in to find Sinclair seated comfortably at his desk, as expected. His large frame leaned back in the chair as he watched Mac enter the room. What was not expected however was for Mac to see a woman seated across from Sinclair on the other side of his desk.

Upon hearing Mac enter; she turned around, her platinum blonde hair swinging back over her shoulder. She was a young woman, probably in her late twenties. Her hazel eyes met Mac's as she sent a small smile in his direction. He gave her a short nod as Sinclair stood up from his chair.

"Taylor," Sinclair said with a tone of sarcastic enthusiasm. "I'm glad to see you could make it."

Mac's gaze shifted towards the Chief as he tried his hardest to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. "Well Chief, when I got the call to meet you in your office, I didn't think it was optional."

"Smart man," Sinclair commented with a smug smile. "Taylor, I want you to meet Special Agent Amber McCoy with the FBI," he said, gesturing towards the young woman.

She stood from her seat, allowing her tall, lean figure coming into complete view. Her facial features were prominent: a tight jaw line and high cheek bones. She extended her hand towards Mac in a polite fashion. "Nice to meet you Detective Taylor," she told him.

Mac smiled and shook her hand. "Likewise."

"Agent McCoy is here to assist you on the Tillman and Garrison cases," Sinclair explained. "I want you and your team to give her full access to whatever she needs; no matter what. I don't want you and your guys giving her a hard time."

"You don't have to worry about that Chief. All I want is to get whoever is behind these murders off the street." Mac's gaze rested easily on Sinclair's as he waited for another retort.

"Good. I want this killer brought to justice as soon as possible. He's nothing more than a coward who wants to make the department look bad. I want this guy Taylor." He stared intently at Mac as he leaned on his desk.

"Sure thing Chief." Mac kept his answer as simple as possible. Anything more would only create more conversation with Sinclair which is not something he wanted.

"I'm glad were clear on that then." Sinclair straightened up and turned his attention towards Amber who rose from her chair. "Keep me informed."

"Yes sir," she answered before turning toward Mac. "If it's alright with you Detective, I would like to see everything you have so far on the murders," she asked politely.

Mac nodded in her direction. "Sure. I'll give you a ride back to the lab."

"Thanks," she told him as she followed him out of the office, having the same feeling about the room as he did.

"Detective," she said, causing Mac to stop in his path towards the elevators. He turned around and looked at Amber who hung back as she looked at him. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear she walked closer to him. "Look, I don't know care what Chief Sinclair said, or didn't say. I want you to know that I'm not trying to take over your investigation. You're still the boss in every way. I'm just here to help; nothing more."

Mac watched her for a moment, searching for sincerity in her hazel orbs. "Thank you." His hands remained in his pockets as he looked at her. "I appreciate the gesture."

Amber shrugged as a small smile came across her lips. "Don't worry about it. I know we feds have reputation of being rather…" she trailed off as she tried to determine a proper word to use.

"Power hungry?" Mac offered with a small smirk.

Amber let out a light chuckle as she and Mac resumed walking. "For lack of a better term, yes."

)()()()()()(

**April 27, 2009 10:30am**

"Stella."

She looked up to see Flack walking in her office with a file in his hand.

"Tell me you got something," she told him. So far, everything they had did nothing to point them in any direction.

"I got something," he said with satisfaction. "I took the liberty of checking out our girl, Logan Castle, just in case we missed something, so I called down to the hair salon she works at. According to them, Logan is an outstanding stylist that comes highly recommended by many local celebrities."

"Local celebrities?" Stella questioned.

"Yeah. People like the weather girl from the local news channel," he answered, a grin slowly creeping onto his face.

Stella eyebrows rose as a smile came on her face as well. "Dana Tillman," she stated knowingly.

"Yup. According to them, Dana Tillman was one of Logan's number one customers. However, she didn't make her last appointment."

"So right now, the only connection to our two vics is Logan." Stella smiled at Flack as she stood from her seat.

"Did I hear you say connection?"

Stella and Flack turned to see Mac entering the office with a young woman. "Stella, Flack, this is Special Agent Amber McCoy with the FBI." Mac turned to look at Amber. "This is Stella Bonasera, she's a member of the crime lab and Detective Don Flack is with homicide."

Amber smiled at them both. "Nice to meet the two of you."

"You too," Stella said politely while Flack gave Amber as simple nod.

"So Stella, I heard you say something about a connection," Mac prompted.

"Right. Flack discovered that Dana Tillman was one of Logan Castle's clients," she told him.

"Logan Castle being?" Amber inquired.

"She's the mother of Matthew Garrison's daughter. She claims however that there is no type of relationship between the two whatsoever," Flack offered.

"Ah." Amber nodded her head in understanding.

Mac looked over at Stella. "So as of right now, Logan Castle is the hair stylist of victim one, and ex-flame of victim two."

Stella nodded as she clapped her hands together. "I say we should have another talk with Ms. Castle."

)()()()()()(

_Like always, reviews are appreciated._


	5. Danger's Increase

_Once again, sorry for the delay. I'll try to do better with the next one. I hope you enjoy. _

_And I don't own anything._

_-Andie_

)()()()()()(

Chapter Five: Danger's Increase

_Let the fear of danger be a spur to prevent it; he that fears not, gives advantage to the danger._

_~Francis Quarles_

)()()()()()(

When attempting to solve a crime, one must always work in haste for the trail of a killer goes cold quickly. However, when one realizes that the longer the killer remains at large, the more of a threat he is to society; members of the police department finds themselves in a panic. They know their job is to protect and serve so when their ability to do so weakens, the reality of the danger becomes all too real for their liking.

When it happens, they finds themselves making silent promises to the citizens of their jurisdiction to make sure that the killer won't be a danger any longer; even when their confidence is lingering.

)()()()()()(

**April 27, 2009 1:15pm**

The sounds of the precinct whirled around Flack as he stood up from his desk. He reached around to the back of his chair to retrieve his jacket, having placed it there when he sat down. As he pulled it over his shoulders, he noticed Amber making her way through the room, approaching his desk in his process.

She glanced around the room before meeting his gaze, leaning slightly forward on his desk.

"Detective Flack, right?"

"Yeah," he answered with raised eyebrows.

"Right, um, so I wanted to ask you if it was okay if I joined you when you questioned Logan Castle."

Flack paused for a minute as her questioned was slightly unexpected.

Amber picked up on it and gave Flack a small smile. "I know, I know, you're probably used to the Feds who just stay in the background until the case gets really bad."

This time, it was Flack who smiled. "I'm kinda obvious huh?"

"Just a little," she said, holding up a hand to signal a pinch. "So, is Logan Castle already here?"

"Yeah, a couple of my guys brought her in earlier," he told her, nodding towards one of the interrogation rooms.

Amber nodded as Flack led her past the array of desks and into the viewing room.

Mac was already situated in the room with Stella at his side. They both gave a quick greeting to Flack and Amber before turning to look through the viewing glass.

Logan sat at the table, drumming her fingers on the table impatiently. Her brown hair sat lazily on her shoulders as she let out a small groan of annoyance. Unlike the last time, she wore a pair of burgundy plastic glasses that rested easily on her face.

"So that's Logan huh?" Amber spoke out loud.

"The one and only," Stella said pointedly.

"Where was she when the uniforms picked her up?" Mac asked Flack.

"At home. They picked her up and apparently she came willingly."

"So, Logan Castle has connections to both vics, and a definite motive for Matthew Garrison."

"We need to find out her dislike in Dana Tillman," Mac said, looking toward Flack.

He nodded before turning to Amber. "You ready?"

She simply nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the viewing room and into the interrogation room.

At the sound of the door opening, Logan looked up. She sat back in her chair and watched as Flack crossed the room to lean against the wall. "So, I see we meet again Starsky. Where's Hutch?" she said, her accent seeming even more prominent than before.

"You're hilarious, you know that. Especially for someone who's about to go down for the murder of two people."

Logan rolled her eyes and leaned forward on the table. "Look, I didn't kill anyone," she said with another groan. She glanced at Amber who had taken a seat directly across from here. "Who are you?"

"Agent Amber McCoy with the FBI."

Logan's eyebrows rose slightly at Amber's introduction. "FBI, huh?" She turned to look at Flack with raised eyebrows. "Bringin' out the big guns, I see."

Flack shrugged from his position against the wall. "Well whenever we think we're dealing with a serial killer, we take the necessary precautions."

"Serial killer?"

Amber nodded and stared at Logan with a calm expression. "Yes, a serial killer. I'm sure you're familiar with the term," she said simply.

Logan glared at the woman, biting her lip to restrain from saying anything that would only worsen her situation.

"Ms. Castle, do you know a Dana Tillman," Amber asked her.

Logan shrugged lightly and nodded. "Yeah, she's one of my clients. Why?"

"When was the last time you saw her?" Flack inquired, ignoring her previous question.

"I don't know, it's been a while. She missed her last appointment, I think," she replied with another shrug.

"You think?" Amber repeated.

Logan rolled her eyes as her dark gray eyes met Amber's hazel ones. "Yes, I think," she said strongly. "Do you realize how many clients I have and how many of them don't make their appointments? I can barely remember who I saw yesterday let alone a week ago. Why are you so worried about Dana anyway?"

"She's dead," Flack said simply, his mouth pursed together.

Logan's eyes widened in surprise at his words. Her gaze left Flack's and went to the table. She stared at the metal surface for a moment before looking upward.

"How?" she said to no one in particular.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Amber answered.

"Whoa, whoa," Logan started. She held her hands in defense as her eyes darted between Flack and Amber. "I didn't kill Dana alright. I swear."

"Are you sure?" Flack asked her.

Logan sighed and ran both her hands over her face. Her palms rested on her cheeks as she looked directly at Flack. "Look, I get why you guys asked me about Matthew. It makes sense. I have a motive as I'm sure you guys call it." Her tone was a lot softer than before as she tried to convince them to believe what she was saying. "But what reason do I have to kill Dana? I mean, were we best friends? No, but we weren't enemies or anything. She would come in every two weeks and I would do her hair. Every once in a while she would miss an appointment but she was always say the next time that it was because of work. I just assumed this time was the same."

Flack watched the woman who sat at the table. He sighed and moved to sit in the chair next to Amber who was looking directly at Logan. Her features too were softer than before. He could tell she was thinking the same thing that he was.

"Look Logan, I wanna believe and let you get back to your life, okay. I do. But right now, all we got is two dead people who can both be linked to you," he told her.

"I don't know what to tell you, okay. I didn't kill them. Maybe it was just a coincidence."

Amber shifted in her chair as she rested her elbows on the table. "Did Matthew and Dana know each other?"

Logan shook her head. "I don't think so. But then I didn't know any of their friends so I wouldn't know. Maybe."

"Do the numbers four and five mean anything to you?" Flack asked, hopeful that she would offer some time of aid to their case.

Once again, Logan shook her head. "Not really."

Behind the glass, Mac looked over at Stella who turned to him at the same time. "She's right Mac. Besides the obvious ill will between her and Matthew, we can't place her at either scene."

"Well there's the hair we found on Matthew Garrison," he offered.

"According to her, that happened before his murder," she said before turning to look though the glass. "And as much as I want her to be our guy, I don't think she is. I know she's the same height of the shooter based on Sid's trajectory, it still doesn't add up."

Mac looked grim as he watched Logan through the glass. "Which is unfortunate for us."

)()()()()()(

**April 27, 2009 2:00pm**

Sheldon ducked under the crime scene tape at the door and entered the apartment.

The apartment of Dana Tillman was rather neat for a crime scene. Aside from the large bloodstain on carpet and the fingerprint dust on almost every surface, the room still seemed to have a high standard.

He set his kit down and pulled out the latex gloves that were stored in his pocket. He expertly put them on his hands as he drifted towards the fireplace in the living room. He eyed the various pictures that rested neatly on the mantle. He eyes landed on one of Dana alone on what looked to be the beach.

She was smiling brightly at the camera, her eyes seeming to light up. Sheldon shook his head at the picture. "What a shame," he muttered to himself.

He moved away from the fireplace and further entered the room. His eyes swept over every detail in attempt to find something that was missed.

Unfortunately, like before he came up empty handed.

He moved out of the living room and towards the bedroom. Like the living room, it seemed to be decorated expertly, each piece of furniture graciously complementing the other.

He looked over the bed, trying to find something. Once again he found nothing.

Sighing, Sheldon moved towards the closet. He opened the two sliding doors to reveal a large walk in closet.

_Every woman's dream _he thought to himself as he moved into the large space. He took in the rows of clothes hung up on the walls. As he finished looking at the last row however, he spotted something else.

Tucked neatly in the corner was a brown wicker basket. He moved toward it and carefully lifted the top off.

He reached inside and pulled out what appeared to be white bed sheets that were to be washed. His hand dipped into his pocket and pulled out his flashlight. He shone the beam along the material, hoping to find something that they could use. When again, nothing became apparent, he switched the flashlight to wear the light coming from it was a familiar purplish-blue.

He once again went over the material with the light when he suddenly stopped. He looked closer just a satisfied smirk came across his features.

As that same moment, he heard movement in the entrance of the apartment.

"Hawkes."

Her immediately recognized the familiar voice and called back. "In the bedroom closet Lindsay."

Within seconds she arrived in the doorway. She was about to question his reason for being there when she noticed the look on his face.

"Tell me you got something," she said hopefully.

"I got DNA."

)()()()()()(

**April 27, 2009 2:14pm**

"Mac."

Mac looked up from his position at his desk to see Stella entering, a large smirk on her face.

"I just got a call from Lindsay. She and Hawkes are at Dana Tillman's apartment and apparently Hawkes was able to find DNA on some dirty bed sheets. If we can somehow see how long it was there we could possibly…" she trailed off when she noticed the hardened expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

He held his phone as he looked at her. "Just got off the phone. We have another body."


End file.
